


Oh-merica

by MistressGalahat



Series: Twelve Days of Stories [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: 2016 US Presidential Election, Fluff, Gen, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Sick Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:53:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8739004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressGalahat/pseuds/MistressGalahat
Summary: Matt nearly kills the computer in his haste to find out if he heard what he think he just heard.Oh God. He better wake up Foggy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> On the third day of Christmas  
> my true love sent to me:  
> Three Years of Tension

Matt took a breath as he settled in front of Foggy’s computer. His apartment was as well lit as ever, but with the obvious lack of a television, Foggy had insisted on bringing a laptop.

The popcorn in the kitchen were slightly burnt, but Matt refrained from making a comment. Foggy was insistent that they watched the election together, and Matt wasn’t about to cancel it when Foggy was the one who was ill.

There was a distinct mistake of rattling breath as Foggy took one deep swallow of air after the other, his nostrils clogged and mouth dry. The cold had set in early, and without proper attire, it was almost too easy to garner a stray sneeze and the bacteria that evidently followed.

“Honestly, Foggy, how many snacks do we need?” Red vines, cans of soda and beer, boxes of thai from their favorite place around the corner, there was little space left on his table. Foggy scoffed from the kitchen and hurled a burnt popcorn at Matt’s head.

He dodged, of course.

“It’s the election, Matty!” Crowed his friend. “We gotta know whether to laugh or cry come morning. Granted, there’s probably not going to be much to celebrate about, but hey, we gotta show our support, man.” Foggy threw a generous handful of salt over the piping hot popcorn, setting the bowl besides the half eaten takeout. He propped open the laptop, the tap of keys a soothing sound to Matt’s ears.

“Either party is likely to call it out as rigged. Is that really anything to look forward to?” Matt felt like sighing, but refrained. Foggy had a tendency to do the same after Matt did it, and his friend didn’t need the odd puff of air to irritate his throat and nose. The coughing fits hurt Matt’s ears, and he disliked the sound of Foggy’s ribcage under such strain.

Foggy popped some of the popcorn into his mouth, refreshing the page on his computer until he found a news site he liked. “The world might end before midnight, I’d like to know whether to start building a bunker or if I can be satisfied with mild contempt.”

Matt only shrugged and leaned back on his couch, the leather soft on his skin and chilly beneath his fingertips. The reporter’s voice of wherever Foggy had decided to follow the night’s events ran out shrilly in the apartment.

The two of them fell into a silence, Foggy remembering to move around the mouse every now and then to desist his computer from reaching a stage of slumber. Matt’s ears would rather not hear the unknown female voice telling him how many people had turned up to vote - all Matt wanted were the results.

Foggy drifted off to sleep not long after, face flushed from half a beer and too little sleep the nights before. His snoring was soft, but didn’t disturb Matt any more than it would have done back in their college days. How his friend could sleep with all the noise the computer was exuding, remained a mystery to Matt.

He was close to nodding off himself, and albeit he didn’t have a can of opened beer that was decidedly less full of fizzle than it should be, Matt shot awake when the news reporter mentioned something that made his blood run cold.

“A source has just confirmed that Trump has taken the state of Flo-”

The sound was killed and Matt made a wild scramble for the computer, tapping keys and whatever else he could reach. Was the reporter going to say Florida? Matt really hoped and prayed that for once his ears had been wrong.

It was booting up again, picking up from where it had left off.

“It has now been officially confirmed, that yes, Presidential Candidate Donald Trump has taken the majority of Florida, and therefore all twenty-nine electors goes to the Republican party and their Presidential Candidate.”

Matt’s throat closed up on him, his hand tapping Foggy on the leg. His friend remained undisturbed in his sleep, choosing instead to roll over and snuggle further into the couch. So he did the only reasonable thing left, and punched Foggy - hard.

“Ow! Matt, what the hell?” Foggy’s sleepy squeak was adorable and reminiscent of their younger days, but instead of dwelling on it, he gestured weakly to the dulled screen in front of them.

“With the news of Florida supporting Trump, he has now taken a clear leap towards reaching the seat in the White House of Washington D.C. To say that the race has ended will be saying too much too soon, but a pattern has begun to emerge in the Trump’s favour. Now back to you in the studio, Scott-”

Foggy was speechless. “Did that… Matt, did Trump just take Florida?” Did that just happen, remained unsaid, but Matt answered the question nonetheless. A headache was incoming, and his muscles were more tense than they had been in ages.

“It did, Foggy. It did happen.” Matt sighed and threw a punch at the pillow to his right, away from Foggy just in case he miscalculated. “Maybe I should take a walk, cool off for a bit.” He said.

“Why, do you want to go look at ducks? Throw some bread at them and hope the world will be a better place tomorrow, because that’s not how it works.”

“Jesus Christ, Foggy, look at this and use your eyes. What the hell is happening in the world?” Matt didn’t bother to wildly gesture at the screen again, as he figured the tone of his voice would make Foggy understand how not okay he was with this.

“You should laugh in the face of tragedy - that’s what my family usually does. Not, like, do it all the time, maybe? You don’t want to come off as one of those crazy freaks.”

“I’m already a crazy freak. I’m a Catholic running around, wearing a red Devil outfit and beating people for the sake of justice.”

“Cut the sass, Murdock, or I will feed you to the jury of used tissues.” Foggy curled up one of his snot filled napkins and threw it at Matt. He batted it away with precision, satisfied when he heard a groan and an ew from where it had hit Foggy smackdab in his face.

“Just in, Hillary Clinton has taken Nevada, but with only six electors, a victory in the democratic camp is rapidly escaping Clinton. We all await the results of Michigan, who may get the final say in this historical election.”

Matt got up and paced around as they waited and waited and waited. Foggy remained on the couch, instead running a hand through his wildly tossed hair, eyes still crusty with sleep and wondering if he could possibly be dreaming and wake up from it all.

The tinny voice in the computer speakers gave one last piece of news. “AP has just confirmed that Hillary Clinton can no longer catch up, and therefore Donald Trump will become the next President of the United States with the ten electors of Wisconsin - a state that was otherwise believed to be a straight win for Hillary Clinton.” Foggy shut down his laptop and they lounged in silence for a minute.

“Foggy, am I a bad hombre?” Asked Matt, serious as the Devil he sometimes was.

His friend laughed loud and strained, the sound nice and calming in the wake of Matt’s initial panic. “No. God no. None of us are. Not Karen, not me and not you - you’re practically a cinnamon roll by standards.”

“A cinnamon roll wouldn’t beat up people with batons.”

“A non-cinnamon roll wouldn’t care about said people.”

Matt couldn’t stop his runny snort of disbelief. “You mean like Trump?” His hands searched for a napkin that he couldn’t find. Foggy had used most of them, and while he loved his buddy, there was no way he was sharing snot and mucus with him.

“Some would say that about the guy, I bet. Just promise me you won’t start throwing yourself in front of bullets again without at least making sure it won’t do more than knick you. Claire is in Harlem, and I don’t feel like stitching you up again.” The gaze was heavy enough for it to be tangible in the air.

Matt ducked his head down, not to avoid Foggy’s gaze, but to reach the few napkins that had slipped from the table and under his couch. “Then you can’t do anything stupid either, Foggy. Promise me that?”

Foggy stole one of the napkins out of Matt’s hand, not caring how long it had been on the floor. “Geeze, are you sure you shouldn’t be the one making me that promise instead?” When the comment didn’t elicit a laugh like it usually would have, Foggy pouted and conceded with a wave of one hand. “Okay, okay, I promise, Mr Devil Horns.” The napkin flew around in Foggy’s grip like a white flag before a surrender.

Matt smiled. “I guess all we can hope for, is for him to be a better person than we expect him to be…”

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this about an hour after the final results were announced. Oh joy. Expect a meet cute in two days to make up for this political feels thing.


End file.
